


the Barians get a life

by atlas_of_galaxies



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, the barians have wacky gay adventures, they go to school now lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-02 05:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlas_of_galaxies/pseuds/atlas_of_galaxies
Summary: After the Numeron Code has been dealt with and the Barians have been revived, the seven aliens find themselves stationed in Nasch and Merag's old mansion.Now that they're free from Don Thousand and are able to do whatever they want, they have plenty of free time to finally live the lives they lost all those lifetimes ago.





	1. Vector steals a cat

**Author's Note:**

> Just the start of a collection of drabbles for the Barians in post-canon Zexal. There won't be much overall plot but there'll still be continuations and such. It'll be updated sporadically and whenever I get ideas. :'D
> 
> also fun fact. I called this chapter 'Vet-ctor' in my drafts. can't tell if that's the worst or the best pun I've ever made.

The tiny, pitiful _mew_ that emanates out from under his covers is the only thing that stops Nasch from flopping onto his bed at the end of the day.

The Barian immediately freezes. Did his bed just _meow_ at him?

Horrified, he swiftly clutches at the covers and yanks them off his sloppily-made bed.

There, in the middle of his mattress, sits a tiny tabby kitten.

"What the hell?" Nasch wonders aloud, staring at the foreign feline that has ventured, uninvited, into his room. It's a tiny little thing with wide blue eyes and fluffy paws that are much too big for it. It's honestly pretty cute; it reminds him of Durbe.

The kitten cries out again, and Nasch can't help but crack a smile at it. It blinks up at him in wonder as he scratches it behind one of its giant ears.

The alien sits on his bed and scoops up the cat, placing it gently in his lap. It begins to purr immediately and curl up on his thighs. It seems pretty tame for a kitten that he's never seen in this house before.

At that moment, he hears footsteps pounding down the hallway outside, rapidly approaching his room. He looks up in time to see his door - he knew he should've locked it - slam open with Vector at the doorknob.

"Nasch!" Vector yells, eyes wide and hair messy. "Have you seen a kitten anywhere in the house--" His violet eyes lock onto the kitten in the king's lap. A relieved smile spreads across the orange-haired alien's face.

"Bloodshed!" he cries, running forward and sliding onto his knees to get face-level with the unsettlingly-named cat. "I was so worried," he murmurs, scratching the kitten on both cheeks and completely ignoring Nasch above him.

"The hell did you just call this thing?" Nasch irritably pats the tabby kitten on its backside. "And why the hell was this thing in my bed?"

Vector finally looks up and seems to notice the purple-haired teen above him for the first time. Annoyance crosses his face as he takes Bloodshed into his arms and cradles it against his chest. The kitten mews back at Nasch and Vector quickly covers its face with a hand.

"Excuse you," the orange-haired teen hisses. "He is not 'a thing', he is a kitten and his name is Bloodshed. He matches with the rest of the kittens."

Nasch stares at him incredulously. " _'Rest of the kittens'?_ What kittens? We don't have any pets."

Vector raises an eyebrow. "Uh, that's what you think." He strokes Bloodshed in his arms like a stereotypical cartoon villain.

"What fucking kittens?!" Nasch suddenly snaps, rising to his feet in impatience as his Daily Vector Bullshit Meter™ reaches its limit.

The other alien flinches and swiftly moves to cover Bloodshed's ears. The tabby meows in indignation. "Nasch! _Language_ ," he scolds, a disappointed tone in his voice.

The king glares daggers at him as the other Barian rises, still cradling the kitten in his arms. "I see that my son isn't welcome here," Vector sniffs, his voice dripping with contempt. "If you'll excuse me, I'll see Bloodshed back to his room." 

With that, the alien turns and walks stiffly out of the king's bedroom. Nasch stares after him, baffled that he would just leave his former king like that. He quickly regains his composure and chases after him, however.

He follows Vector into the latter's room and sees -- holy fuck -- three kittens on the bed.

The orange-haired teen deposits Bloodshed onto the bed to join his siblings. He coos affectionately at a black kitten that chirps at his approach.

"Vector?" Said alien isn't surprised by Nasch's appearance. The king's voice is quiet, but tense with thinly-veiled anger. "Why do you have four cats in my house?"

"Five cats, technically, counting Durbe," Vector corrects him without turning around as he pats a dark gray tabby on the head.

"Wha--"

"Anyway, about the kittens." Vector glances backwards at Nasch. He pauses, looks at the felines on his bed for a moment, before looking back. "Did I ever tell you that I'm a vet?"

Nasch doesn't waste any time in snorting, "Bullshit."

" _Nasch_ ," Vector hisses much more harshly than said Barian expected he would. "If all you're going to do is be a bad example for my children, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave my room."

"Fine," the other groans reluctantly. "But I think I at least deserve to know why you're keeping kittens in my house without my permission."

Vector sits on his bed and crosses his legs, facing Nasch as he scoops up a kitten with black and white tuxedo markings. He beckons to the other Barian with the cat's tiny white paw. Barely suppressing an eyeroll, Nasch walks over and sits on Vector's carpet cross-legged in front of his bed.

"Well," the orange-haired teen begins, thoughtfully stroking the kitten in his lap. "Maybe I'm not exactly what you'd call a vet. But I still know basic care and stuff." He looks down as Bloodshed brushes against his hand with his cold wet nose. "And I also know abandoned kittens when I see them."

Nasch's eyes widen. "They were abandoned? When?"

"I don't know," Vector admits, giving in to Bloodshed and pulling him into his lap to join his brother. "I found them about a week ago, and since kittens of their age can't survive for long on their own ... I'd guess their mom left them only a few hours before I found them near the curb down the street."

"And your first thought was to bring them here? None of us have ever had pets, Vector."

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?" the alien retorts, sounding mildly insulted. "Should I have just left them there?" The tuxedo kitten in his lap meows in defiance, as if calling out the Barian king.

Nasch can't believe it. He's being guilt-tripped by a couple of kittens and this orange-haired menace. "No, of course not..." He averts his dark blue eyes, staring at the carpeted floor underneath him. He stubbornly picks at it, even though he knows it's an expensive fabric: polyester.

"Exactly," Vector grins in victory, thinking he's won his case. "Besides, you didn't even know these guys were here until today. I'm doing a pretty good job at keeping them secret from everyone else."

"Well, they're not exactly a secret anymore," Nasch points out, staring as the dark gray tabby starts to venture dangerously close to the bed's edge.

Without even looking, Vector gently carries the kitten to the ground and places it next to the Barian king. Nasch freezes as it wanders onto his legs and settles down into his lap. He gawks at the tiny feline, as if he can't believe it sat there of its own accord.

"Maybe not, but I'm still keeping them, you know." Vector pets both cats in his lap at the same time.  He's getting too powerful. "You can't stop me."

Nasch lets out a tired sigh in response. "I know I can't. Just make sure you don't accidentally kill them or something."

Vector gives him a wonderfully sincere, un-Vector-like smile. "Aw, you still don't trust me? I'm hurt, Nasch."

Said king gives him a half-hearted glare. "Just shut up and give me another kitten."

Vector obliges and gives him the black kitten that still remains on his bed. The two former enemies sit there, in Vector's room in Nasch's mansion, stroking the kittens that Vector picked up from the curb.

"So, what's this one named?" the king suddenly enquires, gently poking the dark tabby with his finger.

"Ah, that's Conquest."

"What?"

"And the tuxedo in my lap is Pestilence and the black one in yours is Death."

"...What the hell, Vector??"

"What?" the Barian shrugs, eyebrows raised. "I said they matched, didn't they?"

"And you named them after the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," the purple-haired Barian sighs in disappointment.

"Exactly."

Nasch shakes his head, exasperated. "I can't believe you gave your cats such terrible names. This probably qualifies for animal cruelty, honestly."

It's Vector's turn to snort. "As if. These kittens are literally living in the lap of luxury." Like an idiot, he spreads his legs, and Bloodshed and Pestilence nearly fall off.

Death eventually gets bored of laying in Nasch's lap, and she wanders out of it to explore Vector's fascinating carpet. Her sister Conquest soon follows.

The two aliens watch the sisters investigate the room (the door is closed, of course, so another Bloodshed Incident™ can't happen). Nasch has to admit that it's rather nice. He hasn't really spent any peaceful time with Vector since ... forever.

Bloodshed and Pestilence soon venture off of the orange-haired teen and join their sisters in their journey. They're pretty cute for being named after the apocalypse.

"Anyway, you should probably keep them in here so you don't lose them again," Nasch advises, letting his fingers trail over Pestilence's back as he wanders by.

"Yeah, yeah, I won't leave the door open again. I should've known it would be Bloodshed who got out first, he's always been the most adventurous..." True to his nature, the two aliens jump as said kitten knocks Vector's bottle of lotion off his dresser and stares after it, awed by the law of gravity.

"I'll introduce everyone else in the house to the kittens gradually. Durbe will probably be next; he'll fit right in with them," Vector smirks.

"Maybe you should let Durbe be the one to take care of the kittens. They already have the familial resemblance and everything."

Nasch takes a moment to realize that the room has fallen silent. He glances at the other Barian to find him staring. 

"Did our good king Nasch ... just crack a joke?" Vector whispers, in awe.

Playfully irritated, the shark punches the teen on his scrawny shoulder and gives him a sideways, cocky grin. "Don't tell Durbe."


	2. Mizael doesn't know how school works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the Barians have had some experience with school, so they shouldn't have any problems with their first day back, right?  
> ...Uh, wait, actually.  
> Has Mizael ever been to school?

The first time Mizael ever set an alarm for himself in the human world, he slept through it.

Which meant that Nasch had to wake him up instead.

...Not exactly what Mizael expected to happen the morning before his first day of school.

"Mizael, get the hell up" is all Nasch says as he opens the door to the blond Barian's room, filling the darkness with the blinding light shining in from the hallway. The bedridden teen groans in response and turns over, his unkempt hair spilling all over his pillow.

Mizael lets out a soft sigh of relief into his covers as he hears his king scoff and leave his doorway. Good, now he won't be disturbed. He can fall back asleep, even though that blinding hallway light is really annoying...

He doesn't have long to relax, however.

Alit suddenly bounds into his room, slamming the door open the rest of the way and drowning his fellow Barian in yellow lighting. "Mizael, get up! We get to go to _school!_ " he exclaims, as if they're _lucky_ that they're waking up before 7 in the morning.

He rushes past the unmoving Barian's body and reaches his windows; he yanks open the curtains, transforming the room from midnight into dawn. Mizael immediately hisses and draws his blankets closer to his body. Only his light purple-blue eyes, which glare icy daggers at Alit, are visible.

"Come on, you're gonna love school, I know it!" Alit runs over and pushes the bundled lump on the bed. He brushes the dragon user's blond locks away from his face and grins at his scowl.

"What makes you think that?" Mizael mutters irritably as Alit pulls the blankets away from his body. Miza takes a quick moment to look the former combatant up and down. He's already dressed in his school uniform, with his tie loosely done. His olive-colored eyes shine down at Mizael as he tosses his new uniform over the sleepy Barian's head.

"We're leaving in half an hour," Alit notifies him, ignoring Miza's question. "Get yourself downstairs before breakfast is gone."

"Breakfast?" Mizael immediately perks up, but Alit is already out the door, his mission complete. The blond Barian gives a heavy sigh as he finally gets out of bed, tussling his bedhead. It's gonna be hell to do it up in his usual style; maybe he can put it in a ponytail and call it a day.

\---

By the time Mizael gets down to the kitchen, looking fairly cleaned up but still with enough of a "I woke up like this" aesthetic, everyone else in the house except Vector has gathered around the dining table, sharing Durbe's chocolate chip pancakes and glasses of milk. It's perhaps the most familial experience the Barians have ever had.

Merag is the first one to notice him up. "Morning, Mizael," she greets, her fork accidentally scraping against her plate in a terrible screech that causes her to flinch.

"Good morning, Merag." The blond Barian frowns at her plate. The fluffy pancakes definitely look good, but if they were made with what he's guessing they were made with, he can't eat them.

"Anything I can eat?" he cringes at how much of a selfish and ungrateful brat he sounds like.

"On the countertop by the sink," Durbe speaks up, directing him to a small stack of delicious-looking pancakes that look significantly less fluffy than what's on everyone else's plates. "I made a couple dairy-free ones."

"You're a lifesaver, Durbe," Mizael sighs in relief, not bothering to grab his own plate and instead just taking the whole stack for himself. It's not like anyone else is gonna choose to eat his bland pancakes over Durbe's better, chocolate chip-filled ones.

Mizael settles down in one of the last two remaining chairs, sitting between Gilag and Merag. He pours a glass of orange juice and digs in to his breakfast.

Being a lactose intolerant alien kinda sucks, but it doesn't make living impossible.

"So how are you looking forward to your first day of school, Miza?" Alit pipes up with a mouth full of pancakes. "You're, like, the only one here who hasn't gone yet."

Durbe pointedly coughs, causing Alit to cast a sheepish glance at him in embarrassment. "Oh, uh, right, Durbe's never gone either." The Barian blinks his olive eyes as he ponders this for a moment. "Um, do you guys know how school works? Like with its schedules and such?"

The gray-haired Barian draws his head back, insulted. "You think I don't know what school is like?" His blue-gray eyes narrow in irritation behind his rimmed glasses. "I followed Nasch's every move back when we weren't sure he was our king. I memorized every minute detail of his schedule."

Said king sets his fork down on his plate, staring at Durbe with his eyes slightly out of focus, likely from his lack of sleep the night before. "You _what_?"

Everyone else at the table ignores him.

"Okay, so Durbe knows what he's doing 'cause of his stalking tendencies," Merag summarizes for the aliens. "So Mizael?" She raises an eyebrow at him beside her.

He buys some extra time by swallowing a swig of orange juice. He takes his sweet time wiping his mouth, smirking behind his napkin as Merag lets out a sharp sigh of exasperation. Being the difficult one isn't his job (that position is held permanently by Vector), but it's nice to pick up his slack every now and then.

Finally, after what seems like ages, Mizael neatly folds his hands before him on the dining table and looks up to meet Merag's narrowed magenta eyes beside him. "I had no idea what a school was until you all signed me up for it last week," he says softly, a small, pained smile on his lips.

Gilag slams his fork down on the table a bit too strongly for Mizael's taste. "You didn't? Didn't you pay attention to our mission while we were infiltrating Tsukumo's school?"

"Uh--" Luckily, Mizael is saved from having to admit that, _no, he had never even glanced at their progress on the mission because he had cared for very few humans, except maybe that Kaito boy,_ but he's relieved when the last Barian in the house makes his appearance.

"Good morning, everyone," Vector drawls as he enters the kitchen. He leans lazily against the door frame and grins at the Barians seated at the dining table. "Aww, you all look so cute, all dressed up in those uniforms of yours. Are you sure you don't need good ol' Mama Vector to pack all your lunches for the day?"

Mizael suddenly regrets having ever felt relief at Vector's entrance. He would much rather bear the disappointed and unimpressed looks his fellow former Emperors surely would have had for him over having to deal with the orange menace.

"Why are you even up, Vector?" Merag asks, ignoring his irritating question. She quirks an eyebrow as she looks his outfit up and down; he's dressed in a simple tank top that expose his skinny arms and bottoms that borderline on being booty shorts. She shouldn't be surprised that those are his pajamas.

"Hey, just because I'm not going to school doesn't mean I can't see off my favorite people in the world." The sly grin Vector gives them all makes Mizael's stomach twist. Even if they are living in the same house, he can't trust the Barian that killed (either directly or indirectly) pretty much everyone at that table.

"Color me impressed," Durbe speaks up with a surprising amount of respect in his voice - more so than usual for Vector, anyway. "I, personally, wasn't sure that you would even be up by the time we'll get home this evening."

If Mizael didn't know Vector better, he would think that he was legitimately insulted by Durbe's words by the look of hurt on his face. "Wow, Durb. I ... wow. You really think I would let myself go that much?" The deadened expression on the gray Barian's face keys the orange-haired teen in to the answer: yes.

"I'm hurt, Durbe," he lets out an exaggerated and over-dramatic sigh as he settles into the sole vacant chair at the table. He eyes one of Gilag's unfinished pancakes to his left, but he doesn't make a move - yet. "You know, I have some real responsibilities here. People are counting on me."

Mizael can't help but snort in laughter. "You? Having responsibilities? Vector, you're the only one out of us who backed out of going to school. And you say you're more responsible than us?"

Vector's been called out, and he knows it. He grimaces and - in a bizarre move - sneakily exchanges a quick glance with Nasch. It's so fast that Mizael hardly has time to notice it, but it was definitely there.

What do they know that the rest of them don't?

Before Mizael can voice his observations aloud, Alit lets out a small, panicked gasp when he glances at the clock on the wall. "Hey, guys?" the former combatant calls out. "We should probably go now; it's getting late."

The rest of the Barians at the table take a moment to follow Alit's gaze and observe and read the time for themselves -- before six out of seven of them are scrambling out of their seats and reaching for their respective bags that have been flung unceremoniously across the backs of their chairs.

"Wow, first day and you're probably gonna be late," Vector snickers, smugly remaining in his chair as he watches his fellow aliens rush around the kitchen in a last-ditch effort to get ready. He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms in amusement; Mizael considers kicking the uneven chair legs out from underneath him and letting the orange-haired teen fall to his death, but half of their group are already out the door. He'll have to get back at him another time.

It's only when all his housemates are out the front door that Vector finally rises from his chair. He leans through the entryway of the mansion, apparently not caring that he's exposing his borderline-nude body to the world.

"Have a good day at school, dearies!" Vector calls after them, his voice irritably loud in the clear morning air. "Make sure to learn a lot!"

Mizael can't help but smirk as Nasch flips the orange-haired Barian off as they set off on their walk to school.

\---

School is ... bizarre.

He wasn't really sure what he expected, though, so Mizael guesses it would have been bizarre no matter what.

But still. Staying on the same land for 7 hours a day, barely moving across it no more than eight times a day, and spending the rest of that time sitting still in bland and boring rooms where you do nothing but get lectured by what they call "professors" all day? And kids come here _of their own free will?_

Honestly, staying home with Vector the menace doesn't sound so bad right now.

It especially doesn't sound bad compared to what he's doing right now: standing in the middle of the campus, alone and at an hour much too early for him, staring at his "schedule" and not understanding a single word of it.

_What do all these numbers even_ mean? _Shouldn't there be a map on this thing?_ Mizael quickly checks the other side of the paper, but alas, it's blank.

He turns back to the front, struggling to decode the jargon on the page. He can read just fine, even if Vector does tease him about it, but he has no idea how on earth he's supposed to interpret the columns of unrelated words and numbers on the page.

He's about to consider just dropping this mission and going back home to sleep and forget this ever happened when a voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

"Mizael?"

Immediately, said Barian looks up, curious to find who called his name.

A few feet away, a red-collared boy with curly pink hair stands there, watching him with a look of surprise on his face. It's been a long time since he's seen him, so it takes Mizael a beat to recognize the duelist.

"Michael Arclight," he observes, aloof, totally not trying to ignore the guilt that rushes him with every passing second he stares at the boy.

'Cause, y'know, he had killed Michael Arclight during the Barian Onslaught, but maybe he doesn't remember?

"It's been a while."

Ah, so he does.

Mizael nods stiffly, praying his expression reveals nothing. "So it has."

"...Uh, so, what are you doing here?" the pink-haired boy asks. There isn't any aggression in his voice, but Mizael can't help but bristle.

"I'm going to school. What else does it look like?" the Barian snaps, perhaps a little harsher than he had intended.

Michael quirks an eyebrow. "So you have a free period now?"

He's lost him. "A free ... _what?"_

The Arclight looks vaguely pained. "I'm guessing that's a no. What class do you have right now, then?"

"...Uh..."

The boy's tired green eyes flick down to the paper in the alien's hands. "Is that your schedule?" Without waiting for an answer, he steps forward and takes it from him. Mizael doesn't resist.

The blond Barian watches him smugly as he scans the page. He waits for the boy to look up, as lost and desperate as he is.

Instead, after a few seconds, Michael smoothly hands it back to him and points to the second row on the page. "Your second period class is Biology," he informs the alien. "You're in Room 224."

Oh, so _that's_ what the numbers meant. "And where is that?" Mizael asks. He hates how vulnerable and clueless he is. It's really a blow to his pride; at least only this Arclight is here to see it.

"Second floor, in the science building," the other boy offers. "I can walk you up there if you like."

That definitely wouldn't do anything to repair his dignity - in fact, it would just make it worse - but Mizael's desperate at this point. Judging by that bell he heard earlier, he has to be about ten minutes late to his second period class, at _least._

The alien stiffly nods, which is all Michael needs to turn around and lead the way to their destination. They pass through the empty halls silently, the only sound being their footsteps echoing on tile.

Mizael curiously watches his guide's back as he leads on. The youngest Arclight is an intriguing one; from Mizael's encounter with the oldest one and what he's heard of the middle brother from Nasch, the family isn't exactly friendly.

But this one ... this one's a different case.

"So Mizael, are the rest of the Barians going to school as well?" Michael, true to his nature, makes friendly conversation with the teenager who killed him less than a month ago.

"Uh, yeah, they are." Mizael shoulders his bag uncomfortably; it's getting really heavy.

"Did they tell you where your classes are?" the pink-haired boy asks. They pass by a large window that filters in sunlight from the clear day outside. It's too nice to be stuffed inside like this.

"They walked with me to first period, but other than that, I've been on my own." Mizael stands up a little taller.

"Wow, that sounds rough. And you've never been to school?"

The Barian shrugs. "If I have, I don't remember."

"Yeah, apparently not." This little _sassmaster_ ... !! Before Mizael can bark out a response, Michael suddenly comes to a stop next to a wooden door with a single pane of glass in it. Through it, Mizael catches a glimpse of about two dozen students seated before a rather intimidating-looking professor. He then glances at the plaque next to the entrance; it reads _224_.

"And here we are," the Arclight announces for him, rather redundantly. "Just knock on the door and step in. Make sure to explain to the professor why you're late."

Mizael gives him an uneasy nod, suddenly nervous now that he's about to face the potential wrath of this teacher. But it can't be helped at this point.

What's that saying that humans always say? "Better late than never"?

And if he's anything, Mizael is most definitely late.

Swallowing back his fears, the alien knocks on the door, and, after a beat, steps inside the classroom.

\---

Mizael heaves a heavy sigh as he finally reaches the top of the stairs. They remind him of his temple back in China, with its soaring heights and cliffs that hum the tune of home.

These stairs may be comforting, but that doesn't make them any easier to ascend.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Mizael closes the gap between him and the door in the stairwell and opens it. Immediately, he gets a gust of the outside air. The wind caresses his face, and he exhales softly in relief.

He didn't get lost on his way to the roof after all.

He steps outside, shutting the door behind him. The roof is large and flat; the only thing shutting it off from the outside world is a rather short fence running around the perimeter. It's also largely vacant, except for--

"Miza!"

...Except for the five aliens who are seated next to the wall, sitting on a picnic blanket that Mizael doesn't recognize.

The blond teen considers the group for a moment as they wave him over, smiles on most of their faces. He wonders if he should even go over there and join them; he _is_ pretty pissed at them for kind of leaving him to fend for himself.

But they're also really his only friends here at school, so...

Mizael walks over and joins his fellow Barians.

Before he settles down, however, he takes a suspicious look at the red-and-white plaid blanket everyone's sitting on.

"What are you doing?" Nasch asks, sounding bored. "It's just a blanket."

"Where'd it come from?"

Durbe lifts an eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

Mizael grumbles something about being the only one who cares about the little details as he sets his bag down and takes a seat, cross-legged, on the fabric between Nasch and Alit.

"So, Miza," Alit begins, a blinding smile spreading across his dark skin. "How's your first day of school been?"

Mizael quickly tires of his position and instead opts to stretch his legs out to his side. The blue uniform pants are kinda uncomfortable. "It's been a mess," he admits casually, not really bothering to try to play down the dramatics. "After you guys ditched me after first period, I had no idea where to go. I probably would have gone home if the youngest Arclight boy hadn't helped me." He finishes with a feigned nonchalant shrug.

"...Wow," Nasch remarks, taking a sip from his Sprite can. " _Someone's_ a little salty."

Mizael tosses him a nasty look. Nasch _knows_ that he doesn't get human lingo; words like "salty" and "bitter" mean nothing more than tastes to him, but apparently they mean a whole range of emotions to everyone else. He hates not understanding it.

"That's rough, Mizael," Merag offers. The blond Barian considers giving her a grateful glance, but then he remembers that she also ditched him, and he thinks better of it.

"It's not our job to lead you around on a leash," Gilag, who sits across from the apparently salty alien, mutters under his breath. He probably assumed that Mizael couldn't hear him across the space between them; when Gilag is met with icy daggers radiating from the blond's face, he thinks better of it, however.

It's at this moment that Mizael realizes that there's no picnic to go along with the picnic blanket. In fact, there's no food at all; isn't this supposed to be their lunch period?

"Uh, this _is_ when we're supposed to eat, right?" he asks in confirmation, again looking dubiously at the empty plaid fabric the six of them sit on.

He sees Nasch opening his mouth to speak when the door to the roof behind them suddenly slams open, being quickly followed by a joyous cry: "Food's here!!"

As Mizael whirls around, his stomach immediately calls out a response to the aforementioned proclamation. A rosy color tinges his cheeks pink in flustered embarrassment as he looks up at the people who had so rudely intruded on their not-picnic. He's quickly pleasantly surprised.

Yuma Tsukumo stands there, hoisting a giant, heavy-looking picnic basket over his head. It wobbles in his hands. A green-haired girl - _Kotori,_ Mizael recalls - joins him outside and gives him a disapproving scowl. "Be careful, Yuma. You're gonna drop everything!" she chastises the boy.

"Not _everything,_ Kotori," corrects a calm and familar voice. Michael steps out onto the roof, bearing two bags that appear to be bursting with all the technical aspects of a picnic: plates, napkins, cups, and so on. Mizael wonders if they would have had to eat their lunches like animalistic heathens if not for Michael.

"Took you long enough," Nasch calls out. The words sound condescending, but when Mizael turns, he sees there's a kind, reminiscent smile on the Barian's face as he watches Yuma.

It's at times like these that Mizael remembers that their king lived among the humans the longest out of all of them.

To the relief of everyone, Yuma finally sets down the picnic basket he had perched precariously on his head. He opens the flaps over the container to reveal a plentiful array of sandwiches, chip bags, and soda cans. "Dig in, everyone!" he exclaims in that signature excited yell of his. "Happy first day of school!"

"Happy isn't what I'd call it," Nasch snorts, reaching into the basket for another can of Sprite. Merag knocks his hand away and snatches it out from under his fingertips. "Hey!" he snarls, his hand sadly palming the bottom of the basket in vain as he searches for another can; alas, his sister took the last Sprite. "You're a monster," he growls bitterly, glaring daggers at her.

Merag rolls her eyes and takes a sip from her stolen soda can.

The rest of the Barians and Yuma's friends dig in to their feast, helping themselves to the lunches Yuma has so generously supplied for them.

Mizael picks out a sandwich with a creamy brown condiment and dark pink preservative. He stares at the bread dubiously.

"What?" Yuma chokes at him through a mouthful of food. He's apparently broken into his own lunch now that everyone has their fill. "You never have a PB&J?"

The blond teen bores into him with his purple-blue eyes. A million possibilities run through his head as to what this "PB&J" could possibly be. "What did you just call me?" he asks, incredulous.

At Kotori's insistence, Yuma finally takes a moment to swallow his lunch. "Peanut butter and jelly!" he explains. He takes a quick swig of his Mountain Dew - Mizael's pretty sure he recognizes the soft drink from Vector's side of the fridge. "It's a classic sandwich, Mizael. You gotta try it!"

He shoots the boy one last uncertain glance before taking a bite.

It's ... pretty good.

He's about to compliment Yuma on his taste in lunches, but Alit beats him to it.

"This is the best picnic I've ever had!" the former combatant commends him. "I mean, it's also the _only_ picnic I've ever had, but that just makes it the best one!"

"Aww, thanks, Alit!" Yuma scratches the back of his head, a bashful flush on his cheeks. "Me 'n Kotori 'n III have been planning it for a while, so I'm glad it turned out so well!"

"It _is_ a nice break from the day," Durbe admits with a quiet, contented sigh. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Yuma. This means a lot to us."

"Guysssss," Yuma whines, folding in on himself. He wraps his arms around his knees and pathetically buries his head in them. "Stop it, you're embarrassing me!" His cry is muffled.

Michael gives him a comforting pat on the back, chuckling at his misfortune. The Arclight then looks up, noticing Mizael a few feet away. "How'd the rest of your day go, Mizael? Did you ever get lost again?"

An angry glower in response sets off another laugh from the pink-haired boy. "No, I didn't get lost," Mizael answers crossly. "I asked my professors for directions."

"See? That's what you were supposed to do," Merag smirks. "Good job, Miza. You learned something today."

Mizael throws his unused cup at the alien.

At the exact moment that the styrofoam cup makes contact with her skull, the bell rings. Mizael as a minor heart attack as he struggles to connect the buzz to the bell and not to the sound of the impact of the cup.

"Holy shit," he whispers, clutching at his chest. For a split second there he thought he'd shattered Merag's head.

Alit, who was sitting beside him and unfortunately heard his little slip-up, gasps in horror. "Mizael! Did you just utter a _human swear?"_

"Be quiet," he hisses, still trying to calm down his beating heart. _Don Thousand,_ that bell is going to take some time getting used to.

The dark-skinned Barian shakes his head in disappointment. "I can't believe you... Miza, you've brought shame to this family." He gestures around their group; apparently their family means the Barians and three humans.

"The fuck are you talking about, Alit?" Nasch, who was apparently only half-listening to their conversation, cuts in.

Again, said Barian inhales sharply, as if he's been stabbed in the gut. "Not you too, Nasch!"

"Uh, hey guys?" Yuma interjects before another alien can curse like a sailor and consequently mortally wound Alit. "The bell rang, we need to get to class."

Mizael looks over for the first time at the teen; while he was busy having cardiac arrest, Yuma had packed everything up.

Kotori folds up the blanket after everyone has risen and retrieved their discarded bags. Before returning to the school building, Michael pauses for a moment beside the blond Barian, watching him with curious emerald eyes. Mizael gazes back evenly.

The alien raises an eyebrow when the Arclight doesn't speak at first. "You know your way to your class now?" Michael suddenly asks, a playful smile gracing his lips.

Mizael scowls at him as he fishes his schedule out of his back pocket. "Of course I do. It's in..." He takes a moment to check the room number. "...the math building?" It's a pretty desperate guess.

He sighs inwardly in relief as Michael's eyes light up in approval. "Yep! You're on the third floor, the fourth door on the right," he prattles off directions that Mizael is very unlikely to remember.

"Oh no." He hears Yuma's terrified voice to his left. "That's the _calculus_ room," the duelist whispers in horror.

Mizael gets increasingly unsettled as the group around him lets out soft, horrified gasps at the word. The low mutters set him on edge.

Michael, however, doesn't think much of it. "Don't worry about them," he promises, rolling his eyes. The group finally begins to head back into the school building now that everything has been packed up. "You'll do fine. You have any questions?"

"Uh, yeah, just one."

"Mmh?"

"What's calculus?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *backflips* okay what the FUCK  
> callout post for me @me: STOP SHIPPING INSANE RAREPAIRS THAT LITERALLY HAVE 0 WORKS FOR WHAT THE HELL  
> *punches wall* NOT TO MENTION THAT THEY HAVE VERY FEW INTERACTIONS OTHER THAN WHEN ONE IS TRYING TO KILL THE OTHER  
> *somersaults out of the room* FUCK ME GENTLY WITH A CHAINSAW I HATE THIS


	3. the Barians get jobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Barians are an interesting bunch: they're alien teenagers who are living in a mansion they don't legally own. and they also kinda need to get a paycheck for themselves.

When Nasch thinks back on it, he realizes that none of this ever would have happened if Durbe hadn't been such a nerd.

"Nasch, what's the WiFi password?"

The king looks up from his position on the couch in the living room. He's sprawled out across the length of it, laying on his back, phone in his hands. He blinks up at Durbe curiously, who stands in the doorway.

"...WiFi password?" Nasch echoes after a few moments of silence. Confusion is scrawled across his face.

"Yes, that," his knight patiently responds. He's used to his king being a little slow when he's caught off-guard. "You _are_ using WiFi, yes? How else would you be able to access Twitter?"

Nasch glances back at his phone, which is held above his face and stuck on, as Durbe had correctly guessed, the Twitter app. He twitches his thumb and reloads his feed; Yuma is currently livetweeting his duel with his trash robot Obomi. He's losing.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the purple-haired alien shrugs. His locks spill over the side of the couch. "I'm just using Baria Crystal to supply whatever data I need."

The gray Barian looks at him incredulously. "Don't tell me ... you're using our main power source to access _Twitter?"_

"Well, yeah, I thought it was obvious. You can't exactly get WiFi for a house that isn't legally owned--"

"Excuse my interruption but _what?"_

"Your interruption is excused," Nasch sighs, sounding bored. He reloads his feed again; Obomi just took a sizable chunk of 1000 Life Points from Yuma. Ouch, that's gotta hurt. "But I don't see why you're so confused."

"Nasch," Durbe begins, clearly struggling to remain calm. "Are you saying that you don't actually own this house?"

"I mean, Merag and I lived in it when we were little." He tosses a pointed glance at the small picture frames of toddler-age Nasch and Merag - Vector always teases them about those - above the cold, unused fireplace. "But do we actually have the papers for it? No."

"So we're living in your childhood mansion illegally?"

"Yes."

Durbe stares at his king for a few moments more before suddenly looking around the room and noticing one very important detail. "How is this place getting electricity, then?"

"Baria Crystal, what else?"

The knight suddenly finds that he can't take any more of this, and he is forced to sit down. "Nasch, you're using an ancient, extremely powerful, extremely _limited_ source of power in order to fuel trite luxuries such as electricity for our lights and refrigerator. Don't you see the problem here?"

"Well, what do you think we should use instead?" the king suddenly sits upright, glaring at Durbe from his spot on the couch.

"A generator?" Durbe gives him a painfully exasperated shrug. "Or anything that _isn't_ draining our finite amount of power."

"Generators cost money," he responds, frowning. "And in case you forgot, we're a bunch of high schoolers without paychecks. We're not exactly rich."

Durbe is normally a very patient person, especially with Nasch, but his composure is thinning by the second with every sassy remark his fellow Emperor gives him. "Then we'll get paychecks," he answers matter-of-factly.

Now it's Nasch's turn to stare at him incredulously. "Are you suggesting that we get _jobs?"_

"Yes, and from my time spent studying Earth and its inhabitants, I've come to understand that jobs are a common practice for humans within our age range. We would not be out of place."

Nasch throws his hands up in the air, nearly accidentally chucking his phone across the room in the process. "Fine! We'll get jobs then. Happy?!"

Durbe raises an eyebrow and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Not entirely. If I told you 'yes' then I imagine you'd simply procrastinate in getting a job until we'd both forget about it."

The other alien winces; he was spot-on.

"So, no, I'd rather you - and the rest of us - secure a job by, say, the end of the week?"

If Nasch was drinking something at that moment, he surely would have done a spit-take. _"What?!"_ He sets down his phone so he doesn't accidentally throw it again; Yuma had just lost to Obomi, anyway. "By the end of the week? With a household full of aliens? You're asking for the impossible."

The gray Barian gives him a shrug. "We'll just make it a goal, then. Spread it around to the others, would you?"

As Durbe rises from his seat, Nasch stares at him, at a loss. "You're too harsh, Durb. We're all gonna suffer from this."

The standing alien moves to depart from the room. He throws a wise smile back at his king. "Yes, but what was that line that Vector's always saying? _'We're all in this together?'"_

Nasch stares helplessly after his knight as he leaves the living room. He doesn't have the heart to tell him he had just unknowingly quoted High School Musical.

\---

When Vector heard the news, he was pissed.

Hell, even now, two days later, he's _still_ pissed.

Just because Nasch may have been the leader of the Emperors at one point doesn't mean that he can command them all to get _jobs._ Just who the hell does he think he is?

...Well, _yeah,_ he _is_ letting them all stay in his childhood mansion, free of charge. Getting a job and paying him back, even just a little bit, would be the right thing to do.

But doing the right thing isn't exactly Vector's style.

He's suddenly thrown out of his thoughts by a muffled _mew_ from inside the duffel bag he's carrying. He throws a pitiful look at it and silently apologizes to the kittens inside for the bumpy ride.

Getting four cat carriers would have been not only expensive but also incredibly suspicious; the rest of the household would have found out about the Four Kittens of the Apocalypse in a heartbeat. So he'd had to settle for the black duffel bag he had found in his bedroom's closet.

Oh, but don't worry, he punched holes in it. He's not a monster, after all.

And so Vector walks along the side of the road, holding the bag close to his chest, shivering slightly in the cool spring air.  Maybe he should have waited for a warmer day, or for a day when Nasch could give him a ride on that stupid motorcycle of his.

But he had already scheduled the veterinary appointment and he was starting to grow worried over his ability to care for four abandoned kittens, so there's really no going back.

The rest of the walk to the veterinary clinic is a crisp one, but keeping the kittens contained is a blessed distraction from the cold. When Vector reaches the door to the clinic, he pauses for a beat and thinks; on second thought, he _probably_ shouldn't walk in there with a duffel bag full of kittens. It'll look like he had just cat-napped a poor mother's children right from under her nose.

He improvises and unzips the duffel bag, revealing the four mewling kittens inside. He scoops out one and holds the bag so that the remainder can easily see out. That doesn't appear _too_ suspicious, right?

He pushes the door open with his foot and steps inside the air-conditioned clinic, which doesn't provide much relief from the cold outside.

The place inside is crisp and gives off the feeling of being constantly vacuumed, likely to pick up all the fur. There's only two other people in the room: one's the receptionist; the other is a woman who appears to be just barely holding onto the leash of a giant Bernese Mountain Dog. Vector turns so that the kittens are out of the beast's sight.

He sets the bag bustling with kittens on the countertop as carefully as he can. The receptionist immediately looks up; it's kinda hard to ignore a duffel bag full of felines that's just been placed right in front of your nose.

"Um," Vector mumbles, trying to contain Bloodshed with one hand. "I'm here for my appointment."

"Ah, yes," the woman sitting before a computer in front of him nods enthusiastically as she checks her screen. "Vector Barian, right?"

The orange-haired alien struggles not to wince at the last name. He needed one to set up the appointment, so... "Yeah, that's me. But I'm sure you could guess that from the kittens."

The receptionist nods, looking at the four tiny fluffballs with pity in her eyes. "You found them abandoned, right?"

"That's right." Vector has to put his entire arm on the countertop to prevent Bloodshed from wandering over the edge. "I've been doing what I can for them, but I'm no professional..."

"Of course, that's to be expected." As Vector gives up and just puts Bloodshed back in the bag, he notices a sign next to the container of dog biscuits. It's a notice for a job opening at this clinic.

Hmm.

"Well, you can go ahead and sit on the couch," the receptionist offers. "We have a patient scheduled before you, but Doctor Higgins will get to you as soon as possible."

He gives her a small nod and pulls his jacket tighter around himself before scooping up the duffel bag - which provokes numerous annoyed mews - and settles down on the couch opposite the woman with the dog. Luckily, as soon as he sits down, the pair is called, and Vector and his kittens are saved from the traumatizing beast.

So he sits there, petting the kittens and humoring them as he waits. He would get out his phone to pass the time, but A) Durbe has prohibited them from using their phones until they get an actual data plan, and B) he's pretty sure that if he were to take his eyes off of the kittens for .5 seconds, they'd escape.

He opts to pet the kittens instead.

After about ten minutes, the receptionist gets bored of sitting behind her desk with nothing to do and joins Vector and his kittens on the couch. He allows Pestilence to wander out and explore a little.

She smiles and gives the tuxedo a little scratch behind his ear. "So what are all of their names? Did you give them any?"

Vector immediately flashes back to Nasch's encounter with the kittens. "Uh." Judging from how his king had reacted, his names probably aren't the ... most normal.

But screw it, his names are beautiful.

"That one's Pestilence," he begins, pointing to the tuxedo who seems to have taken a liking to the receptionist. "This is Death and Conquest..." He takes the sisters out of the bag as he says each one's name. "And last but not least, Bloodshed." He scoops up the kitten that wandered halfway across the couch and presents it to his fellow kitten admirer. Vector glances at her eyes, curious to see her reaction.

She's grinning. "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?"

Vector breaks out into a smirk in turn. "Exactly." Finally, _someone_ appreciates his naming skills.

"They're great, the doctor is gonna get a kick out of them." Pestilence wanders across the receptionist's lap, bravely venturing into the unknown. Bloodshed, not keen to be outdone by his brother, quickly scampers after him.

"...Hey, uh," Vector mutters, not entirely proud of what he's about to say. "Are you guys accepting job applications?" He gestures as best he can with his shoulder to the sign on the desk; the two kittens in his hands are keeping him occupied.

"O-oh," the receptionist says, appearing startled. "Yes, we are. I'm only a part-time worker, and our old receptionist left a while ago, so I've had to bare the brunt of the load." She raises an eyebrow at the teen. "Are you interested in applying?"

He gives Conquest a small pat of reassurance - mostly for himself, not for the kitten - and nods. "Yeah, I'm looking for a job."

Vector's mind goes a thousand miles a minute; he's sure this woman's face is going to break out in disgust at any second, somehow aware of all the shitty stuff he's done. He knows it's completely irrational, but the thought of being rejected when he puts himself out there makes his blood run cold.

However, quite the opposite happens: she breaks out into a smile. "That's great. Swing by the desk once the kittens are done with their appointment and I'll give you an application to fill out."

The alien doesn't feel himself nod in affirmation, doesn't feel the slight release in weight on the couch as the woman gets up, doesn't hear her steps as she returns to her desk.

Did he just get a fucking job?

Err, no, of course he didn't. At least, not yet.

He forces himself to pet the roaming kittens in order to calm his rapidly beating heart. He only dimly registers it when the door opens and the woman and her dog finish their appointment and leave the clinic.

"Vector?" the call of his name slowly brings him out of his stupor. He blinks rapidly and turns his head; the vet is leaning out examination room door, calling him in. The Barian startles and immediately begins herding his cats - which is incredibly difficult, he may add - into the duffel bag before scooping them up and carrying them into the examination room. They let out a chorus of annoyed meows when they're set down inside.

"So, these are the abandoned kittens?" the vet muses, closing the door after the two of them and coming to stand at the examination table. She strokes Death's chin when she wanders out of the bag first. She then turns a trained eye on Vector. Despite having encountered many more intimidating foes in his time, Vector is tempted to shrink in his skin. "Are you sure they were abandoned? Many people who are trying to do a good deed are more often than not separating a healthy litter from their mother."

Refusing to hesitate, the alien nods. "Yeah, I followed the protocol. Waited 12 or so hours, sprinkled flour around them to check for pawprints, that kind of thing."

The veterinarian nods in accord. "And you found no pawprints, correct?"

"Yeah. And they were really starting to fuss..." He starts to absentmindedly scratch Conquest behind the ear for emotional support. "And it was really late. I didn't have the heart to leave them out there in the dark, alone."

"Mm." The doctor begins to examine Death, her first unwilling patient. She lets out a panicked mew when she realizes what she's gotten herself into. "What have you been feeding them, then?"

"Formula," Vector responds confidently. He shouldn't be so shy around this professional; he knows his stuff, too. "And they'll be able to be weaned off it in two weeks."

She raises her eyebrows, appearing impressed. Vector beams. She finishes with Death and moves on to Pestilence. "You've cared well for them. But next time - god forbid there's a next time - I would advise you to seek animal control instead of taking four kittens under your wing."

He nods, but honestly, he couldn't care less about the authorities. He knows he can care for his kids.

The veterinarian finishes looking over the other kittens, occasionally speaking up and giving Vector a piece of advice or two. Finally, she sets down Bloodshed, and looks him in the eye. "They're in great condition for a couple of abandoned kittens; have you ever taken veterinary lessons?"

He shrugs in response. "Maybe." Her eyes narrow at the cryptic reply.

"Well, you're always welcome to come to us if you want to know more." Her fingers scratch Bloodshed under his chin. "These little guys are all good for now, but I want them back in four weeks for their first shots."

"Wow, alcohol already? Doesn't that seem a little irresponsible?" Vector tries to crack a joke. From the expression on the doctor's face, it doesn't come off well.

"Anyway," she continues, ignoring his words. "I want you to start thinking about future homes for the kittens. You have a few months to decide where, but it'd be best for them to have separate homes. It helps with the independence and such."

Vector stares at her, shaken by her words. He has to give up the kittens? In a few months, yes, but... one day he'll wake up and his children won't be there, all curled up on his bed around him.

He tries not to think about it too much.

He mumbles a half-hearted "thank you" and packs up the kittens in the duffel bag once more. He exits the examination room, and he's all but ready to leave the clinic when the receptionist calls him back.

"Vector, here's your job application," the woman explains, a kind smile on her face as she holds out a thin packet of papers to him. He stares at it for a moment, not seeming to recognize what it's for at first. Suddenly, realization dawns in his purple eyes, and he graciously receives it with a grin.

"Watch out," he warns, a mischievous glint in his wicked smile. "When I bring this back tomorrow, you better be ready to tell me 'you're hired'."

\---

Merag couldn't believe it when Vector announced the news the following night at the dinner table: he had gotten himself a _job_.

Out of all of them, the murderous orange-haired menace was the first to find himself with a paycheck.

Unbelievable.

But, as if he had suspected his fellow Emperors would be doubtful, he had immediately pulled out a schedule of his work hours for the next week at the vet clinic he had been hired for. _Don Thousand, those poor animals._

The whole unpleasant experience at the dinner table had made Merag incredibly uncomfortable and incredibly eager to get a job herself. That hasn't changed in the past day.

But no matter how much searching she does online - she has to go to the library, since Durbe banned their "fake WiFi" - she can't find any job openings for any stores she may be interested in working at.

As she lays on her bed, Merag lets out a heavy sigh. It's at times like these that she really needs a de-stresser; a favorite of hers is, as nerdy as it sounds, going to the grocery store. Durbe usually tags along, and they make it into a fun shopping trip where they can escape the insanity of their home for an hour or two.

Unfortunately, Durbe has been spending more and more time out of the house, presumably looking for a job. Merag supposes that's better than the alternative.

Oh well, grocery shopping alone doesn't sound _that_ bad. She shrugs and arises to get herself ready to go out.

\---

Just as Merag suspected, Durbe is indeed out of the house, but maybe not looking for jobs in quite the way she expected.

He sits cross-legged at his table, alone. He takes a quiet sip from his espresso, observing the cozy coffee shop over the rim of his glasses. People are chatting, working on their laptops, ordering another drink...

Ah, Durbe loves Starbucks.

He fits right in, too; with his scarf and glasses - that Nasch is always calling "hipster-esque", whatever that means - no one would suspect him of being an alien that tried to combine Earth with his own world only a few months ago.

On days when the house gets too stressful, he likes to escape to this safe haven of a café, order an espresso, and sit for hours, simply observing the humans around him the whole time.

Vector would probably call him creepy for it, but he doesn't really mind.

As he finishes off the last dregs of his coffee, Durbe glances at his phone. Merag had just texted him about going grocery shopping; he grimaces when he realizes she probably had to use Baria Crystal to send that text.

_Merag: [14:05] hey durb you wanna go grocery shopping w me?_

_Durbe: [14:11] You shouldn't be using our Baria Crystal to send things as trivial as texts._

_Merag: [14:11] :P_

_Merag: [14:12] you_

_Merag: [14:12] are_

_Merag: [14:12] no_

_Merag: [14:12] fun_

_Durbe: [14:13] You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?_

_Merag: [14:14] yep._

_Merag: [14:15] okay so you wanna come or not_

_Durbe: [14:16] Thank you for the offer, but I'll pass. I'm content with remaining at Starbucks._

_Merag: [14:16] don thousand, I forgot how much of a hipster you are_

_Durbe: [14:17] You know, neither you nor Nasch has explained to me what a "hipster" is yet._

_Merag: [14:18] look it up on your phone_

_Durbe: [14:21] ...Merag, I'm concerned. Do I really look like this?_

_Durbe: [14:21] [Image sent]_

_Merag: [14:22] well, maybe not the beard, but the glasses and the scarf, yeah_

_Durbe: [14:22] I'm horrified. And all this time, I thought "hipster" was a compliment._

_Merag: [14:23] yeah sorry dude lol_

_Merag: [14:24] okay I'm going to the store now, ya want anything?_

_Durbe: [14:25] Some bleach for my eyes, please._

_Merag: [14:25] gotcha._

Durbe sets his phone down with a sigh. He shouldn't have entertained his fellow Emperor and kept texting her; now he's partially at fault for using up so much of their energy source.

But if he can make some money to make up for it, that'll be fine, right?

He casts a curious glance at the baristas behind the counter, busily preparing a frappuccino for the expecting customer. _What if..._

Durbe rises, pocketing his phone and throwing out his empty cup. He reaches the counter and takes a breath; he's never done this before, what if he messes it up?

Well, it still won't hurt to try.

A brown-haired teenage girl behind the counter is the first to notice his presence. "Hey, Durbe!" she says with a bright smile. Apparently Durbe is such a regular here that this girl has memorized his name; he feels bad he can't return the favor. "What can I do for you?"

Durbe's gray eyes that match his hair dart up to the menu above their heads. He considers abandoning his mission, ordering another drink, and returning to his seat to sulk for a few more hours.

But he's never been one to back away from a challenge.

"Yes, ah..." His eyes flit down to the nametag on the barista's apron. "Sachi." Her eyes light up when he says her name; he doesn't have the heart to tell her he had no idea what it was until a few seconds ago. He takes a quick breath, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and looks Sachi in the eyes. "Could you tell me how I could go about applying for a job here?"

\---

When Merag arrives at the grocery store, she considers getting the bleach that Durbe had jokingly requested, but she quickly decides better of it. It'd just be more money down the drain, anyway.

She wanders around the store, grabbing items from shelves that she had haphazardly written that they needed after a quick and probably not long enough glance at the stash in their kitchen cabinets.

Merag isn't very good at grocery shopping, and she often comes home with an item they already have three of or no items at all that they _really really need,_ but hey, she's offering to do this chore when no one else - except Durbe - wants to do it, so let her do it.

Eventually, she's gathered together a basket of miscellaneous objects that look vaguely needed, so she heads for the register to check out.

A smile crosses her face when she sees who the cashier is.

"Anna, how are you?" she greets the pink-haired teenager who's currently taking care of her groceries. Before Merag had started shopping here, Anna was nothing more than the weird girl with the giant cannon at school. You know, your typical high school teenage girl.  But now, Merag sees her around so often that she might even call the two of them friends.

"Ri--Merag!" Anna stutters, apparently still not used to the Barian's ancient name. Merag doesn't really care; she is both human and Barian, and so she'll accept whichever name people happen to call her. "I'm good!" The painfully fake smile she swiftly plasters on her face practically makes her wince.

Merag gives her a sympathetic, understanding look that instantly crumbles Anna's facade. The pink-haired girl miserably stares at her from across the cash register, all cheeriness gone. "I'm dying, Merag," the cashier whispers. She reaches across the gap and takes the alien's hands in hers. "Free me from this eternal hell."

The Barian trains her scrutinizing pink eyes on Anna's golden ones. She cocks one of her thin eyebrows. "What eternal hell?"

Anna grips her hands more tightly, turning them pale. "This one," she breathes, eyes darting around, checking for eavesdroppers. Most people apparently have the same idea as Durbe, since no one else is in the store.

Merag attempts to flex her fingers to free herself from Anna's hold on her, but to no avail. "You mean the grocery store?"

Anna's loud shushing hurts her ears. "Be quiet! They'll hear you!!"

The Barian lets out an exasperated sigh. "Who? There's no one else here."

The pink-haired teen stares at her for a moment more before finally releasing her. The alien quickly draws back and rubs her numbed hands; Anna has a grip like iron.

"What's wrong?" Merag finally asks, trying to ignore that Anna hasn't made any move to ring up her groceries since she broke down. "How come you're like this all of a sudden?"

Anna lets out a whimper and moves to take the alien's hands again, but Merag has learned her lesson, and she casually puts them in her pockets before Anna can crush them. She settles for staring at her customer in desperation. "This work is killing me, Merag," she admits in a quiet, secretive voice, as if they have to worry about being overheard. "I have to stand here for eight hours a _day,_ doing nothing but ringing up people. I need to _move."_

Merag raises her eyebrows. "You don't like working here?"

"Of course not!" Anna bursts out, painfully loud. "I don't care about what groceries people are buying! I just wanna get out there and duel!"

The Barian listens to her outburst thoughtfully. "...So you want to quit?" she quietly deduces.

This knocks Anna off-guard. "Well, I -- yes?" she stumbles over her words unhelpfully. "I want to quit, but at the same time, I'd feel bad for leaving this place behind; they're already so understaffed, anyway. I wouldn't feel right unless I found someone who was willing to take my job, and there's a fat chance of that happening--"

"I'll take your job."

Anna stops in her tracks. "You'll ... what?"

With the teen's golden eyes boring into her, Merag shifts her stance, a little embarrassed. "I was looking for a job, anyway. I can take this one off your hands."

The Barian has to look away when the pink-haired girl begins to gape at her. "Did you not just hear me complaining about this place? Why are you offering?"

Merag's pink eyes shyly flit back up and meet Anna's for a brief second. "I like this place," she admits sheepishly. "It calms me down."

Anna won't stop staring. "Are you seriously offering to take my job for me?"

The Barian chuckles and pats the conveyor belt to move her groceries closer to the register. "Yes, I am."

Merag jumps when Anna suddenly smacks the top of the counter. "You're hired!"

A quizzical stare greets the cashier's outburst. "Are you allowed to say that?" she asks doubtfully.

Anna giggles and hides her grin behind a hand. "Nope! But I'll get you in contact with someone who _can._ Now, c'mon." Finally, she picks up one of Merag's groceries and gets scanning. The Barian quietly sighs in relief. "Let's get you done here so we can talk with my - rather, _your_ \- boss!"

\---

While two of his housemates were working on obtaining their own jobs, Mizael was shopping.

What? Just because they're a bunch of aliens doesn't mean they can't be fashionable.

Mizael's been getting sick of his outfit, anyway; not to mention that he looks completely out of place among the rest of the Barians. He likes his necklace, but _maybe_ he can stand to lose the gloves. And the shoulder-wings.

So he's opting to shop at H&M.

He wanders around the aisles, getting lost in the racks of clothing. The whole store just calms him; the jazzy music, the clean, sparkling black-and-white floors, the endless assortment of accessories and fabrics to choose from...

Mizael wouldn't mind living here, honestly.

He passes a wall covered with scarves of all types; the blond pauses and smirks upwards at it. Maybe he could get a little gift for Durbe?

And yet, that same alien's words ring in his brain: _Don't spend any excess money until you get a job._ Mizael lets out a sigh and turns his back on the wall. Here he is, trying to do something nice for that stick-in-the-mud, and he's getting called out by his conjuration of that same stick-in-the-mud. Incredible.

...Mizael likes being sarcastic. It makes him feel manipulative and, therefore, powerful.

Maybe that's why Vector gets off on it so much?

Anyway.

He runs a gloved hand through a rack of dresses as he passes; while they're not exactly his style, he has to agree with the taste. He thumbs the neckline of a black flower-speckled one before moving on.

Finally, Mizael makes his way back to the clearance rack. He would never admit it to his fellow Emperors, but he's honestly a sucker for clearance; great clothes at a great price, what's not to love?

He investigates the rack thoroughly. Of course, there's always the bad stuff in clearance - that sequin-covered sweater over there in the corner, for example - but if you look hard enough, you can strike gold.

The alien's beginning to think that he's struck just the gold that he's been looking for as he spots the collar of a stylish-looking jacket when someone taps him on the shoulder from behind.

He whirls around, having no idea what to expect.

A male stranger stands in front of him, holding a pair of pants in his hands. "Excuse me, do you know how much these are?" he asks in a tired voice.

Mizael doesn't really know how to respond. Is this human he's never seen before in his life just _talking_ to him?

When the man just stares, the Barian realizes he's supposed to respond. "I don't know," he sputters. At least he's being truthful.

The man narrows his gaze, scrutinizing him. "But don't you work here?"

"I -- what?" Mizael is completely taken aback. "No, I don't work here!"

"Oh." The man blinks, looking embarrassed. "My mistake." He steps away and leaves, apparently to try to find another customer to confuse for an employee.

Mizael stares after him, rattled. How could he have made such a mistake? He doesn't look like he works here, right?

...Right?

He glances at his clothes, and then at the fabrics on the racks around him.

...

Yeah, he _really_ doesn't look like he works here.

That's not sarcasm, by the way.

The Barian suddenly lets out a sigh. He just had an awful idea.

If customers are already confusing him for an employee, why doesn't he go ahead and try to get a job as a real one?

Cursing himself, Mizael goes off to try to find the manager.

\---

Nasch is depressed.

And no, it's not just because he's sitting alone in a cubicle at the library, staring blankly at the clean white paper that's supposed to have 3,000 words on the Trojan War for the essay that's due tomorrow. That does contribute to his depression, however.

No, the main cause is the fact that almost all the other Barians have managed to find jobs before _him,_ _Nasch._

_Nasch, the king of the Barians._

_Nasch, the vanquisher of gods._

_Nasch, the one who lived the longest as a functioning human being (keyword: functioning. sorry, Merag)._

_Nasch, the one, who, despite that last title, cannot seem to find any work that isn't school-related for the life of him._

The Barian king slams his forehead onto his desk and comes away with the clean paper sticking to his skin. Just lovely.

So, he's a king who can't rule, a human who can't get a job, and a student who can't do his homework. What else can he fuck up on?

"Attention all patrons, the library will be closing in five minutes. I repeat, the library will be closing in five minutes."

It's so impeccably timed that Nasch wonders if the woman reading over the PA in the library can hear his thoughts. He leans back in his chair, glaring at the ceiling, hoping that, by some miracle, the librarian will feel his glowering.

The PA remains silent, so he assumes it didn't work.

Finally, Nasch lets out a heavy sigh and leaves the cubicle that had been his refuge for the past few hours. Looks like he's gonna have to head home, lock himself in his room, and pray Vector doesn't bother him as he tries to research and write his essay.

 _You fucking idiot,_ he suddenly curses himself in his brain. _I was probably_ alive _during the Trojan War. Remembering it should be a breeze._

However, at the same time, he knows he's wrong. His memories of his past life, like his Barian transformation powers, are nothing more than, well, memories. He knows they exist in the back of his mind - it's like a childhood; you know you have one and yet you can't quite remember it - but whenever he tries to cling on to a specific moment from thousands of years ago, it slips seamlessly through his fingers like water.

So that's out of the question.

He makes his way through the quiet and mostly-empty library to the front desk, where a single librarian sits. She looks up at his approach.

"Is there a way I can, like, stay here for an hour after closing?" the alien asks her. The librarian's eyes narrow. "I need to finish my essay for tomorrow, but I know I won't be able to concentrate at home with all my housemates." At that, her face quickly softens.

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey," she apologizes, a tinge of pity in her voice that makes Nasch uncomfortable. "But the library closes when it closes; we can't do anything 'bout that." She blinks, her eyes wide behind her bifocals. "Only the librarians can stay behind after closing hours."

This immediately catches Nasch's attention. "Oh?" He gazes down at her curiously. "What do you do at an empty library?"

"Oh, you know, organize shelves, catch up on books, finish work, that kind of thing. You get a surprising amount of work done in a dark and empty library."

He doesn't move his deep blue eyes from hers. There's a suspicious glimmer in his eye. "Could that work include ... _schoolwork?"_

The librarian shrugs. "We don't have any student librarians at the moment, but I don't see why not. Are you interested in a job?"

Nasch draws in a sharp breath; this is the second time this librarian has read his mind. Seriously, is she psychic?

With his mouth dry, he's forced to nod in agreement. She smiles warmly in response, the dim lighting reflecting off her glasses. They remind him of Durbe's.

"We're always looking for more librarians. Let me see what I can do for you, sweetie. What's your name?"

"Uh." He has three names he could use; it's probably safe to go with the most normal-sounding one. "Ryoga Kamishiro."

"Okay, Ryoga..." He stares eagerly at the paper that she takes out and starts writing stuff on; could that be a _job application?_

"Alright, sweetheart." She finishes writing with a dramatic flourish of her pen and hands the paper to the disgruntled teen. "Fill this out and bring it in during a time that the library is actually open, okay?" Nasch takes it and mumbles his gratitude, averting his eyes in embarrassment.

"Oh, and good luck with your essay." She rises from her seat and begins the guide to Barian out of the building. "Hope to see you soon, Ryoga."

"Yeah, see ya soon," he manages through his shock. He steps into the cool night air at the librarian's encouragement, and she locks the door behind him before disappearing back into the darkened library, apparently to finish locking up.

He just stands there for a moment, clutching his blank essay paper and his job application to his chest and staring out into the dark street illuminated only by a few streetlights.

Well, at least he solved one of his problems. Now he just needs to pray that Vector won't torment him, and he'll be golden.

\---

Unfortunately, Alit and Gilag could not say the same.

The pair somberly makes their way down the street, their bodies heavy with exhaustion after a tiring workout after school; at least they feel in-shape, even if they also feel absolutely miserable, mostly because everyone in the house has managed to secure a job before they have.

It's down to just the two of them; Alit doubts that going off on his own in search of a job would be too hard, but he's been through so much with Gilag. He can't just leave him behind.

Alit casts a sad glance up at his best friend. "What're we gonna do, bro?" He shoulders his school bag uncomfortably as they walk down the road. Today's the last day Durbe had given them to find jobs; if they don't find two openings in like the next hour before it gets dark, they'll have failed their mission.

And after everything that went wrong during their infiltration of Heartland Academy back during the Barian Invasion, Alit would rather not fail the gray Barian again.

Gilag meets his gaze somberly, but he says nothing. It depresses him to see Alit this unmotivated and uninspired; this shouldn't be possible.

When Gilag looks up again to see where they're going, however, something familiar catches his attention from out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Alit?" the muscled Barian speaks for the first time on their walk home. "How do you feel about hitting up our old favorite haunt?"

It takes a moment for the shorter alien to look up, but when he does, his olive eyes are sparkling in anticipation. "You can't mean..." he breathes, a smile dawning on his face and revealing his dazzling white teeth.

Gilag grins in turn. "I do." He stops in his tracks and points across the street. Alit follows his finger and lays eyes upon a place that he thought he'd never see again: the BARian.

Oh, how he had missed the BARian.

"Gilag." Alit tensely puts his hand on the taller Barian's chest. His fingers tightly grip the his school shirt. "We have to go in there. We can't just see the BARian and _not_ go in."

Gilag gently takes his friend's hand and removes it from his shirt, leaving it wrinkled. "I never said we weren't going in. C'mon."

Alit's bright white smile slices through his dark skin. "You're the best, bro." Gilag sheepishly looks away and rubs the back of his head, messing up his mohawk.

"Let's just get in there already," he mutters, embarrassed. 

Gilag forces them to find a crosswalk before crossing the street - _"the BARian isn't going anywhere, Alit, we have time to be safe"_ \- and gives him a gentle smile as Alit scampers eagerly into the old bar as soon as they reach the other side. Gilag soon joins him inside.

Immediately, the scent of old wood and fermented wine hits his nose like a truck. He peers through the musty air of the bar that's dimly lit by the shaded windows and sees that there's only one other person in here besides the two of them: the bartender.

Alit swings himself onto a bar stool and sets his school bag down on the counter. Gilag soon joins him. 

"Hey old man, how ya been?" Alit greets him from across the countertop. "It's been a while!"

The bartender finishes wiping a spot on the worn wood of the counter and turns to the dark-skinned Barian. "So it has," he heaves a heavy sigh. "Business has gone down since the two of you disappeared."

"Uh oh," Gilag grunts. "How bad has it gotten?"

The bartender shrugs and puts away his rag and folds his hands on the counter. He leans forward, scrutinizing his only patrons. "It's so bad that I'm the only one working anymore."

"Oh," Gilag remarks, rather unhelpfully. However, Alit quickly slams his hands on the counter, startling the taller Barian. The bartender doesn't even bat an eye.

"We'll work for you!" Alit enthusiastically offers, his olive eyes shining in the dim light. "We don't even need to get paid that much! We just wanna go back to the way things were!"

The bartender turns and gives him a slow, contemplative look. Alit doesn't move his gaze. Finally, the worker turns his back on the two of them and bustles about behind the counter. It takes the aliens a few moments to realize he's making their old favorite: milkshakes.

Alit beams at the drink in his hands after the bartender pushes it towards him. He takes a sip and sighs in contentment; it's even better than he remembers.

"I'm sorry I won't be able to pay you much," the bartender sighs. "But I can give you milkshakes and my trust that you won't snatch any of the alcohol off the shelf while you're still underage."

Gilag nearly chokes on his own drink; apparently he had forgotten that they were in a _bar_ with _alcohol_ and stuff. Maybe they _shouldn't_ work here.

But Alit looks so excited, and way happier than he was before they spotted the BARian ... Surely it won't hurt to work here for a while?

"It's a deal," Alit declares, proudly slamming his empty mug down onto the countertop, spooking Gilag once again. "We'll work in return for milkshakes, trust, and a little bit of money!"

Gilag stares at his best friend as he finishes his own milkshake. They're probably jumping into this way too fast, and he's almost certain they could find a better place to work if Durbe grants them a few extra days.

But hey, technically, this is work, and they'll be getting paid for it. But Durbe never said _how_ they had to be paid.

Gilag grins into his mug and slams it onto the countertop to join its brother. He beams at the bartender and Alit. "If we're gonna be working here, then we'll need another milkshake," he says.

\---

When Alit and Gilag told the table of their good news, Durbe couldn't believe it. All seven - count 'em, seven - of them had secured jobs. Some are more surprising than others, but they did it.

And so, the next night, Durbe decides to ... celebrate a little.

"You're kidding me," Nasch whispers, staring at the wine glass filled with a suspicious deep red liquid in front of him. "There's no way."

Vector is the first to take a taste; he sniffs it before taking a sip. He swiftly draws away, staring at the liquid. "Yeah, it's wine." He turns his dubious purple gaze on the one who had prepared their meal that night: none other than Durbe. "How the fuck did you...?"

The gray Barian smirks and innocently shrugs his shoulders. He takes a sip from his wine glass and winces a bit; he doesn't really enjoy the taste, but hey, it's alcohol, so he has to drink it. His eyes flick up to meet Vector's. "I just copied our dear Nasch and used our Baria Crystal to do a little transfiguring." He shrugs again. "It's no big deal."

"It most definitely _is_ a big deal," his king snaps. "So I can't use it for WiFi, but you can use it to make us all get drunk?"

"At least he's doing it for everyone," Merag points out, picking up her wine glass. "How'd you transfigure this, anyway? I thought those spells disappeared hundreds of years ago."

"Oh, yes, they disappeared," Durbe nods in affirmation. "...Disappeared into my private library, that is."

"Oh my god."

He can't tell who says that over Vector's sudden, loud, and incredibly obnoxious laugh. "Oh, our sweet Durbe, turning water into wine like some sort of Barian Jesus because a couple of teenagers managed to get jobs." He wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. "Never change, Durb."

The gray alien rolls his eyes, but there's an unmistakable smile on his face. "Just shut up and drink, Vector." Durbe tilts his head back and downs the rest of his glass before briefly retreating to the kitchen to fill the glass with wine from a water jug once again. As soon as he sits back down, he doesn't waste any time in starting on his second glass. "I want to get drunk tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Durbe is Barian Jesus confirmed


End file.
